Friends
by jadesfire22
Summary: A poem for each companion! All their journeys, all their personalities. So different, but in the end so similar. (Those in the new series only. So far, at least - I might expand it). Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Note: I do not own Doctor Who. (Did you expect that I would?)

**i. Rose**

I take the words  
I scatter them  
Through time and space

not many words, you understand;

not much;  
a few conversations  
a few friendly glances

talking to a (blue!) girl at the end of the world  
and a psychic girl at hope's beginning  
so how's workyupwork same as ever  
and some things never ever change

yet there are no sweeping social generalities  
or conditional probabilities of the labor class here:  
just chitchat

and warnings too

for the girl who labored over bleached hair and thickly layered makeup-  
a human body stretched thin  
to the shallowness of disuse-

for the girl who laughed at the mundane  
and reveled in the ordinary crudeness-  
a delicate game of weak links, death, and the same sappy game show hosts-

like the acid of experience,  
washing flaws away unevenly,  
yet piling silt up in other areas,  
with a flushing wash of concealed  
existential tears

so sometimes she decides to be  
obtrusively stylish,  
obtrusively maudlin,  
poking you with the seashell whorl  
of her filed-away personality

to hide the curving gaping emptiness  
between the spiky outcrops  
_what to believe? what normality to retreat to?_

And he is there.  
And the normality is-  
_Onwards._  
More experiences, more hollowing out,  
which she hopes one day will shape her  
into something new and beautiful not just whittle her  
away to nothing-  
but he is there  
so she feels something.  
for once in her young weary life,  
Love can build her up.

And give her the strength  
to scatter to others,  
not passive erosion,  
and she realizes

she is not decreasing her soul, but  
spreading it further in a golden mist of hazy memories.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own Doctor Who, last time I checked. *checks again* Still no.

**ii. Martha**

Do you know what med school even _is_?

It is, fourteen hours a day,  
pushing yourself and killing yourself  
and meeting the sun in the morning  
with a sudden bleary sense of sympathy for its long journey-

and then hearing about the genius who finished studying in three hours,  
the prodigy with an internship with a cardiac surgeon,  
and the success stories make you bitter,  
drenched with fluorescent acid-  
and you despise this about yourself.

You become a cave dweller of sorts:  
rejecting the bright sparkle of talent,  
dwelling in the dark caves of envy  
and only coming out to befriend those  
less talented than yourself.

You claim intellect is a cheap bauble,  
and yet you half-hypocritically (and realizing it the whole time!)  
push through, trying to gain it.

And one day, if you met a man who was obviously brilliant and smarter than you-than humanity perhaps-

if you met a man who took you away but whom you, ordinary you, actually helped-

if you met a man so charming that he brought the luster of genius back into a cheap sparkle-

if you met a man whose brilliance lit up those around him and you finally got it, you finally saw-

well, then, you might just have to go with him.  
You might just have to fall in love with him.  
You might just have to realize, in the end,  
that you fell in love with an ideal  
and the ideal

is all those planets, all that running, all those choices  
which shine in the light of a thousand splendid suns.

_One word: Doctor._  
And the glow begins to gather.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Hmm, do I own Doctor Who? Yeah, go compare the level of writing in this fanfic to the writing in "The Name of the Doctor". Somehow I don't think the two could quite be mixed up. I'm not quite there yet, haha.

**iii. Donna**

They say there's no sound in space.

_Well, they haven't met me!_

No, but seriously for a second.

Space  
ignores my attempts to  
shout at it, defy it.  
it simply  
blisters my mind with beauty  
and dares me to comment  
leaves me a choice to love it or lose it  
and lets me stare in wonder,  
crystal-eyed and airy-voiced,  
for as long as I want.  
I am a glittering speck of dust  
in its cosmic gathering wake,  
the forces of nature  
bind together an impeccable planet  
fading in the dust  
just for me-you-him-us.

Humanity,  
on the entirely other hand altogether,  
ignores your shouting  
in a terribly obnoxious way.  
It pokes, pushes, prods, squeezes,  
implies  
it is ignoring me  
like a bit of grime  
beneath its boot.  
I yell at it  
and it quietly sneers back,  
half-spitting venom, half-sipping coffee  
and watching the telly.

Space  
leaves vivid impressions.  
The hard line of blue wood-it can't be, can it?-  
pressed against a hand leaning in awe  
The chill of snow and human hearts  
on a planet of slavery  
and songs of freedom and captivity  
with an agonizing ecstasy of the mind  
and knowledge in a beautifully babbling flow  
that in the end,  
can be entirely too much.

Humanity,  
earth,  
the mundane,  
just fades into oblivion,  
leaving me with a slightly sour taste,  
a feeling of nihilistic despair  
that the world is all too much for me  
and I don't know why-

_- There's something on your back!-_

- it makes me feel this way,  
touching the end of pruned clipped branches.

Space dies with an explosion of sounds and silence,  
Humanity rises again,  
in its final overpowering murmur,  
in a towering pillar of muttering.  
But out of that,  
I try to build a symphony  
of sarcasm and love and life and hope.


End file.
